


Animal Hamlet

by cyankelpie



Series: Ineffable Rivalry [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: ASEXUAL PANIC, Alternate Universe, Awkward Crowley (Good Omens), Broadway, First Dates, Fluff, Gay Panic, Holding Hands, Hugs, M/M, References to Hamlet, The Lion King - Freeform, You know when you finally get what you want and have no idea what to do with it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 09:47:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25348714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyankelpie/pseuds/cyankelpie
Summary: Being asked on a date by Aziraphale is the best thing that has ever happened to Crowley. It's also completely terrifying.(Part of an AU where Gabriel and Beelzebub have been stationed on Earth since the Beginning instead of Aziraphale and Crowley)
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Ineffable Rivalry [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1579288
Comments: 12
Kudos: 28
Collections: Aspec-friendly Good Omens





	Animal Hamlet

**Author's Note:**

> Oh look, another follow-up to this AU that nobody asked for. I was in the mood for some fluff, so here's Crowley and Aziraphale's first date between chapters 16 and 17 of [Choose Your Faces Wisely](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21921922/chapters/52323520).
> 
> If you haven't read the rest of Ineffable Rivalry, don't worry. This one doesn't require much context, since it is 100% self-indulgent marshmallow fluff. Aziraphale and Crowley came to Earth and met just after Gabriel and Beelzebub stopped Armageddon. They had lots of fun in New York going to museums and Broadway musicals. Then there were a lot of shenanigans involving body swaps, and when that was all sorted out, Aziraphale accidentally found out that Crowley was in love with him. This made him very happy. Unfortunately, Crowley took a nap for a week before Aziraphale could get around to asking him out properly.

Crowley was not nervous. Why would he be nervous? He was just going on a date with the only being in all of Creation that he’d ever loved, and the only stakes were an eternity of potential misery if he botched it up. Nothing he couldn’t handle. Aziraphale already liked him, for some reason, and Crowley was picking him up in his shiny, expensive new car, and he knew he looked great because he’d fussed with his hair for an hour and tried at least eight different outfits before heading out, and…

…and he was already sweating through his shirt. Muttering a curse, he miracled away the damp spots and hoped Aziraphale wouldn’t be able to notice they had been there.

“S’fine,” he told himself as he parked outside Aziraphale’s apartment complex. “This is what you wanted, right? You should be happy. Should be fucking ecstatic.”

He had been, before the panic set in and he started thinking of all the things that could go wrong. What if he somehow accidentally threw an entire glass of red wine at Aziraphale? What if they sat down to watch _The Lion King_ and the actors decided to perform _Romeo and Juliet_ that night instead? What if he’d hallucinated that entire phone call, and when he knocked on Aziraphale’s door the angel looked at him blankly and then politely asked Crowley to leave and never come back?

“ _It’s fine,_ ” he growled, and got out of the car to prove just how not nervous he was. Unfortunately, his knees had forgotten how to be knees for a second, and he tripped as he shut the door. Should he have brought flowers? At least then he’d have something to do with his hands. He shoved them into his pockets instead, but unfortunately his pockets were only two inches deep. A voice in his head suggested that he should have thought of that before he’d bought the pants, and he snapped back that he hadn’t bought them for the _damn pockets._

He walked around the car and up to the door, but it opened before he got there, and then Aziraphale was there, looking as bright and happy as ever. Happier? Did he look happier than usual? No, that was probably Crowley’s wishful thinking. “Oh,” he said, looking at Crowley, and his eyes _sparkled_ , unless that was Crowley’s wishful thinking too. “Crowley, my dear, you look—you look simply dashing.”

Crowley had definitely never been called _dashing,_ and he didn’t really know what to do about it. “No, I don’t,” he said. “I mean, not as much as—You’re—” The word “beautiful” wouldn’t make it out of his mouth, so he gestured at Aziraphale vaguely and cleared his throat. “M’not late, am I?”

“No, not at all,” said Aziraphale. “I was just waiting by the door because—Well, I was a bit impatient to see you.”

Right. Because Crowley had napped for over a week after Aziraphale found out about his messy feelings, and they hadn’t seen each other since, and apparently Aziraphale actively wanted to see him and had missed him when he was away. It had only been a few hours since he’d learned about that last part, and he still had trouble wrapping his head around it. “Oh,” he said. “Right, um. Car. Should we?”

Luckily, Aziraphale was able to gather his meaning from those incoherent fragments, and followed Crowley back to his car. “Thank you,” he said with a little smile, as Crowley opened the passenger-side door for him.

Crowley nodded and tried to gently shut the door after him, shut it too gently, and had to open it back up and shut it again. When he climbed into the driver’s seat, and overcorrected by slamming his own door way too hard.

“So what are we seeing?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley started the car. “Got tickets for _The Lion King_. You seen that one yet?”

“I haven’t.”

That was good, at least. “Me either. Supposed to be about animals in the African savannah. They talk, and all. Got a whole system of government, which is probably obvious from the title.” He paused and reminded himself to breathe. “And apparently it’s based on a play by Shakespeare. _Hamlet?_ I haven’t seen it, but I thought that sort of thing might interest you?” He hadn’t meant to put a question mark at the end there. Confidence is key, Crowley. Come on.

“My, that does sound interesting,” said Aziraphale. “Although I’m not sure if you would enjoy _Hamlet_ , Crowley. Don’t you prefer comedies?”

“It’s not a comedy?” Shit. Crowley’s research had been wrong on that count. _The Lion King_ was supposed to be fun and family-friendly.

“Well, no.” Aziraphale patted him once on the arm. “But I do like _Hamlet_. And, as I said, I’d watch any show with you.”

“Nghk.” Crowley thought for a moment or two about replying, but he couldn’t think of anything, so instead he just started the car and pulled away from the curb. “Where am I going?” he remembered to ask after he had already driven two blocks. “I mean, where are we eating?”

“There’s a wonderful seafood restaurant near Broadway, if that sounds alright with you.” Aziraphale pulled out his phone and swiped at the screen with the awkwardness of someone who hasn’t quite got the hang of a touchscreen. “I’ll direct you.”

Hopefully, driving would give Crowley enough of an excuse not to talk too much, because he was certain to say something else stupid next time he opened his mouth. Luckily, Aziraphale didn’t seem to be in a talkative mood at the moment. Or was that a bad sign? Did that mean he wasn’t enjoying himself? Great, they weren’t even five minutes into the date and Aziraphale was already bored. Would it be better if Crowley rambled about whatever drivel popped into his head, or if they sat in near-complete silence for the entire drive?

“Crowley, are you alright?”

“Hm? Yup. I’m great. Cool as a cucumber.” He didn’t think anybody said “cool as a cucumber” anymore. What vegetable did people compare their coolness to nowadays? What was cooler than cucumbers?

“You seem a little…” Aziraphale glanced over at the dashboard. “You’re driving the speed limit.”

Crowley looked down and tried to pretend he hadn’t noticed. Of course he was driving the speed limit. Aziraphale hated the way he normally drove, and he had before he even left that shouting and clinging to the car for dear life were probably not very romantic, no matter how much he wanted to floor the accelerator and swerve around the slowpoke in front of him. “Yeah, I do that now,” he lied. “Thought I’d give traffic laws a shot.”

He could feel Aziraphale looking at him. “You are Crowley, aren’t you?” he said, with a half-teasing lilt. “You haven’t switched bodies with Beelzebub again? Or Gabriel?”

As if either of them could ever match Crowley’s talent for making a complete fool of himself. “I don’t think either of them know how to drive, angel. Don’t worry, I’m done with the body swaps for quite some time.”

“That’s a relief.” Aziraphale looked out the window at the streetlights crawling past. “You do understand, though,” he added, “that I asked _you_ on this date, and not some other version of you that obeys traffic laws?”

Crowley glanced at him. “Is this a test?”

“What? Of course it isn’t—”

“‘Cause I’m rubbish at tests,” he said, speeding up the car and hoping that was the right answer.

Aziraphale actually exhaled in relief. “Thank G—Somebody. I was seriously worried about you for a second.”

“Alright, you asked for this.” Crowley floored it.

Now Aziraphale gasped and clutched for a handhold as usual. “I didn’t ask you to kill us, Crowley—”

Crowley’s heart shot into his throat. The handhold Aziraphale had selected was Crowley’s forearm.

“Watch the traffic lights, my dear! You’ve just passed three red ones.”

“Yeah,” said Crowley trying to swallow. It occurred to him that it might not be a good idea to drive in his current state. He settled for miracling everything and everyone out of the way instead.

“Left, I said—Oh, you’ve missed the turn. Make a U-turn at the next available—”

Crowley wrenched the wheel to the left, and the car made an impossibly tight hairpin.

“A _legal U-turn!_ ” Aziraphale shrieked, now gripping Crowley’s arm tight enough to cut off his circulation.

“Ow,” said Crowley. He had been right. This wasn’t romantic at all.

Aziraphale noticed how hard he was squeezing Crowley’s arm and let go. “Oh—Sorry, my dear.”

They reached the restaurant in one-third the estimated time. Crowley wished he had driven slower, since now that the ride was over Aziraphale would no doubt fall out of the car in a dizzy heap and politely suggest that Crowley drive home by himself. “Here we are,” said Crowley, cutting three people off and pulling up to the valet stand.

Aziraphale, whose eyes had been tightly shut for most of the ride, shuddered and exhaled dramatically. “I should have suggested we meet here,” he muttered, reaching for the door. “I certainly hope the theater is within walking distance.”

“Should be pretty close.” Crowley got out of the car, tossed the keys to the valet, and gave him a threatening look to suggest what sort of things awaited him if Crowley got his car back in anything less than perfect condition. The valet gulped visibly as he caught the keys.

“You wanna go inside?” Crowley asked Aziraphale, angling his head towards the door. It was probably a stupid question, but he felt the need to give Aziraphale an out if he wanted it.

“That was my plan, yes.” Aziraphale reached the door before Crowley and opened it with a smile. “After you.”

The restaurant was busy, but fortunately there was a table for two free (not because of any miracles by either of them, but because Aziraphale had the sense to call ahead). They sat down, had a brief discussion about the menu and the wine selection, and then Crowley realized he had no idea what else to say. He might have to resort to small talk. “Er, how’ve you been?”

“I’ve been well,” said Aziraphale, more or less automatically, and then qualified it with, “although much better, now that you’re awake. And you?”

“Me? Jusssst, y’know. Asleep.”

“Oh, that’s right.”

They sat there for another awkward moment. Crowley drummed his hands on the table and tried to calm himself down. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to both make it through dinner without combusting and hold a conversation at the same time.

Aziraphale drew a deep breath. “I’m afraid I don’t have much experience with these things. What, er…what does one normally talk about on a date?”

Crowley looked up, surprised. “Dunno. I was gonna ask you that.”

“You mean you’ve never…?”

“Who the heaven else would I want to go out with?”

Aziraphale looked for a moment like he was going to answer, and then decided against it.

Crowley’s eyebrows rose. “What was that?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Nn, you had a thought there. Cmon, out with it.”

It might have been a trick of the lighting, but he was pretty sure Aziraphale hadn’t been that pink a second ago. “Well—Beelzebub just said that you had a crush on ‘an angel.’”

“Your wine, sirs.” The waiter arrived and filled both their glasses and take their orders. That was good, because Crowley had no idea how to fill the ensuing pause in the conversation. He was still processing by the time Aziraphale finished ordering, so he just pointed to something random on the menu without much thought.

“Wh, you, what,” Crowley stuttered, when the waiter had left. “You thought—what—Gabriel?”

Aziraphale was in the middle of swirling the wine and inhaling the aroma, and also very pointedly not looking at Crowley. “Shh, Crowley, I’m trying to appreciate the bouquet.”

“Oh, sorry my talking drowned out the smell of the wine,” said Crowley. “ _Gabriel?_ ”

Aziraphale finished the sniffing part of the ritual and moved on to sipping it. “Oh, this is splendid,” he said, ignoring Crowley and reaching for a menu. “A bit more acidic than I usually prefer, but I believe that will go smashingly with that lemon-herb shrimp I had my eye on—”

Crowley put his hand on top of the menu to keep Aziraphale from pulling it towards him. “Why, in the name of everything evil, would you think I fancied _Gabriel?_ ”

“You said some very nice things about him, once.” Aziraphale was about as red as the wine would have been, if it hadn’t been a white. “And he is rather more, shall we say, traditionally handsome—”

“Fuck Gabriel, he’s an asshole,” said Crowley. “And you’re—you look—don’t ever think—” His face was heating up and he couldn’t manage to finish the thought with Aziraphale right in front of him. “Gabriel,” he muttered venomously, taking a much larger drink of wine than he had a moment ago.

“Well, yes, I know better now,” said Aziraphale, still blushing and not looking directly at him. “I was _quite_ glad to learn that I had been wrong in that respect.”

“Hang on.” Crowley set down his glass. “I got some voicemails from Gabe. You made him call me. So, the whole time I was asleep, you still thought—”

“Beelzebub just said ‘ _an angel_.’ And there were two of us there, so I couldn’t be sure—”

“You called me so many times!”

“You were so upset!” Aziraphale burst out. “I couldn’t just let you be alone in that state, could I? And if it was Gabriel, then it was obviously unrequited, and I thought you could use a friend, even if I was—” He stopped and cleared his throat. “Like I said, it doesn’t matter,” he said more calmly.

“Oh.” Crowley’s useless heart was doing things again. Of course Aziraphale had wanted to comfort him, even if it hurt him to do it. He was the best damn friend in the entire world. Crowley didn’t deserve him. He definitely didn’t deserve to be sitting across a table from him, in this romantic setting—

Oh, Satan. What if that was all this was? What if Aziraphale was just trying to be a good friend, and humoring him? Or, worse, what if he didn’t truly understand what this was for Crowley, and thought he’d be able to duck out easily when it turned out this wasn’t for him?

“Um.” Crowley took a big gulp of wine and folded his arms against the edge of the table. “S’not a crush, by the way,” he said, trying to sound casual.

Aziraphale looked confused. “I’m sorry?”

“You said, Beelzebub said I had a crush. That’s not—” He shook his head and drew a deep breath. It wasn’t as if he could embarrass himself any more than he already had. “I don’t know what this is for you, but if it’s just a casual thing or, I dunno, an experiment, it’s probably better if we don’t—”

“Oh, Crowley.” Aziraphale reached across the table and put a hand on Crowley’s bent elbow. “My dear, of course I know that.”

Crowley kept his eyes on the hand on his elbow. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Aziraphale’s face.

“And, er.” The angel cleared his throat. “I—I feel very much the same.”

Definitely couldn’t look at Aziraphale’s face. “Oh,” he said faintly. “Uh. Why, though? I’m…” If he hadn’t sounded like a pathetic idiot before, he definitely did now. Oh, sure, just ask him why he even gives you the time of day. The only thing more attractive than fishing for complements was self-deprecation. Good going, Crowley.

“Well. Would you like the full list, or an abridged version?”

He finally looked up at Aziraphale, which was a mistake, because now he could see the blinding smile the angel was wearing. He was going to regret asking this. “Uh.”

“You’re _so_ clever, my dear,” said Aziraphale. “So very witty, and wily, of course. And kind—”

“Ghhk.” Crowley could feel himself turning red. “Forget I asked.”

Aziraphale didn’t. He smirked as he continued, “So tremendously kind, and generous, and extremely handsome, of course.”

“Stop,” Crowley begged him, covering his face with his hands. He didn’t think anyone had ever said that many nice words about him in a row. His stomach was doing all sorts of gymnastics to figure out how to handle it.

The bastard was still smirking, but he let off with the complements. “I can continue the list another time, I suppose. There may have to be several installments.” He looked much more pleased with himself than he ought to. “You know, I’m quite glad to be able to say some of these things out loud. They’ve been piling up.”

Crowley groaned. “Great. So you can torture me even more later.”

“I hardly think it counts as torture to say that you’re probably the nicest—”

“ _Aziraphale._ ” Crowley put his head down on the table, hoping that would somehow help cool off his face.

“Well, you are.” Aziraphale sounded smug. “And if I’m not very much mistaken, I’d say you enjoy hearing it.”

Crowley was saved from this conversation by the arrival of their food, and the subsequent ritual of Aziraphale appreciating the plating, and the aromas, and the sacred first bite. Crowley didn’t realize until Aziraphale looked over and asked how his entrée was that he had been too distracted to eat anything. “Oh—Uh.” He looked down. What had he ordered again? Swordfish? It looked like they’d only given him the fish part. He took a bite. “Pretty good.” Obviously not as good as Aziraphale’s apparently was. He doubted he’d ever enjoy a meal as much as Aziraphale did, unless you counted the enjoyment of having Aziraphale there to share it with him.

Aziraphale dabbed at his mouth with the napkin and went for the second bite, which, luckily for Crowley, was less of a production than the first had been. “As long as we’re asking,” he said, looking up. “Why, er. Why me?”

Crowley had a difficult time understanding the question. _Why him._ As if Crowley had any choice but to love him, with his whole…the way that he was. “You’re, um.” He didn’t have Aziraphale’s talent for rattling off long lists of positive adjectives, though that was more from self-consciousness than any lack of available complements. “You saved my life.”

“So did Gabriel.”

“Gabe—? Oh.” He’d almost completely forgotten about that. “All he did was burst in with a water gun. You’re not still jealous of Gabe?” he added, with a teasing half-grin.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “I was only pointing it out.”

Crowley folded his arms again and tried to come up with something to say that wouldn’t fall utterly short of how he felt or make him want to disintegrate out of embarrassment. “You’re the best person I know. And you—you get me. I feel comfortable with you.”

The irony was immediately apparent to him, as he sat there with his palms sweating and his heart hammering in his chest. This was ridiculous. They were ridiculous. He slapped his palm down on the table, rattling the cutlery and startling Aziraphale. “Why is this weird?” he burst out. “Why’m I making this so weird?”

Aziraphale blinked. “Er, what?”

Crowley was too busy with other thoughts to notice. Dammit, they’d had a good dynamic going before. They had mostly talked about work, which was unfortunate, and then there was that whole period of time when Crowley had accidentally faked his own death and come back in disguise, but he liked how they had been before. Now he was constantly worrying over whether the next stupid thing he said would drive Aziraphale away forever. He was finally on a date with his best friend who also happened to be the love of his life, and he was too anxious to even enjoy it. Wasn’t this what he had wanted? What was wrong with him?

“Crowley, is everything alright?”

Was this what he’d wanted? A romantic relationship with Aziraphale had always seemed so far out of reach that he’d barely imagined one. He just wanted to be near Aziraphale, and for Aziraphale to be happy. He’d never asked for—Well, he guessed he _was_ near Aziraphale now. And Aziraphale did seem happy, if a bit on the nervous side. So why was it messing him up so much?

There was a plump hand on his wrist. “Are you okay?” Aziraphale asked anxiously. “Have I done someth—”

“No,” Crowley interrupted immediately, because even if he couldn’t explain anything else he couldn’t have Aziraphale thinking that.

Aziraphale noticed how Crowley was staring at his hand, but he must have drawn the wrong conclusion because he started pulling it back. “We don’t have to do this, if it’s too much—”

“It’s not that.” In a panic, Crowley decided he didn’t want that hand to get any farther away, so he reached out and caught it. He definitely hadn’t thought that plan through all the way because that left him holding Aziraphale’s hand with no idea what he was supposed to do with it. Let go? No, definitely didn’t want to do that. He drew a deep breath. “How do we do this?” he asked. “This…dating…thing. What is that? How do we do it?”

Aziraphale looked thoughtful for a moment. “However we want, I think. Er…How do you want to do it?”

Crowley shook his head. “I…don’t…have any idea.”

The longer Aziraphale sat there and looked at him, the worse he felt. He’d only been pining since a few days after he’d first met the angel. You’d think he’d have an answer by now.

“Well,” said Aziraphale, “I, for one, am content to enjoy your company as much as possible. Does that sound agreeable, as a starting point?”

Of course it did. Crowley loved being around Aziraphale. “Yeah, soundsss good.”

Aziraphale gave his hand a squeeze, and he looked down and remembered that, oh yeah, they were holding hands. “This, um.” He held up both their hands sheepishly. “This too?”

“Certainly, my dear.” Aziraphale beamed and patted his hand with his other hand. “However, that does happen to be my fork hand…”

“Oh, right.” Crowley pulled his hand back. Couldn’t get in the way of Aziraphale enjoying his meal. “Food. And then animal _Hamlet._ ”

Aziraphale chuckled and picked his fork back up. “Just so. You said this is a musical?”

“That’s what Wikipedia said.”

“That should be fun, then. I wonder what Hamlet’s soliloquys would sound like put to music…”

Aziraphale looked very confused through most of _The Lion King,_ which Crowley knew because he had been paying more attention to Aziraphale’s reactions than the show itself. The music was great, yes, fine, and the costumes, when he happened to look over at them, were very impressive. The plot wasn’t too complicated, so he got the gist without paying too much attention. He was much more concerned about that furrow in Aziraphale’s forehead.

The angel noticed him staring near the end of the first act. His eyes flitted around self-consciously, but he gave a teasing little smile and angled his head towards the stage.

Crowley looked away hurriedly, embarrassed that he’d been caught, but then he remembered that this was a date, and it was no secret why he was staring, and that he ought to have permission now, of all times. “Something wrong?” he asked.

“My dear, I thought you came here to watch the performance,” Aziraphale whispered.

“Nuh, I never said that.” It was much more satisfying than Crowley had anticipated watching Aziraphale turn that shade of pink. “But I meant with the show. Do you not like it?”

That came out much needier than Crowley intended, but to his relief Aziraphale shook his head. “Oh, no, it isn’t that. It’s very good. I’m afraid I just don’t see how the plot bares more than surface-level similarities to _Hamlet._ ”

That was okay, then. “I wouldn’t know about that,” said Crowley. “Wikipedia just said something about a murderous uncle, and—”

Someone in the row behind them leaned forward and shushed Crowley sharply. “Some of us are trying to watch!”

“Good for you,” Crowley stage-whispered back.

Aziraphale touched his arm and signaled for him to be quiet. Crowley scowled, but had no choice but to comply.

Aziraphale did his best in the ten-minute intermission to explain the entire plot of _Hamlet_ to Crowley, who failed to grasp how _The Lion King_ was anything but a carbon copy. “C’mon, you’ve got your king murdered by his brother, you’ve got your prince who’s the only one that knows—”

“That’s about where the resemblance ends, though,” said Aziraphale. “There’s no Ophelia analogue, for instance.”

“There’s Nala.”

Aziraphale shuddered. “Oh, I certainly hope—Well, Nala doesn’t even have a brother that we know of.”

“What does that matter?”

“It’s the brother that kills—You know what, nevermind. They aren’t very similar, is all I’m saying.”

“You’ve only seen half the play.”

Aziraphale looked around the audience, which consisted largely of families with children. He lowered his voice. “I should hope this story does not end with Simba and all the other lions killing each other.”

Crowley blinked and slouched lower in his seat. “Point taken.”

The floor lights blinked and dimmed, and then the second act began. Crowley watched a little more closely this time, now that Aziraphale had got him concerned about the fate of the characters. Things were not looking good for the Pride Lands.

During one of the slow, sad numbers, he was startled by Aziraphale’s hand on his own. The angel looked at him, shy and a little anxious. Crowley couldn’t tell whether the question was _Are you alright?_ Or, _Is this alright?_

The answer was yes to both, anyway. Crowley moved his hand to hold Aziraphale’s, and their fingers slotted in between each other. He took a moment to get used to the feeling, and then leaned towards Aziraphale a little bit, just to see what would happen.

What happened was that Aziraphale wiggled happily and leaned right back. Their arms rested against each other. Aziraphale was very soft. Crowley would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought before about how soft Aziraphale might be, but he’d never expected to actually experience it firsthand. He wanted to wrap himself around Aziraphale and bury himself in it, and never come up.

Instead, he settled for leaning his head against one very comfortable shoulder, and the delighted hum that he felt, not heard, Aziraphale give off was already more than he ever could have asked for.

“You know the only thing that would’ve made it better,” Crowley said on the drive back to Aziraphale’s, “was if everyone killed each other at the end, and a foreign king invaded Pride Rock.”

Aziraphale laughed while simultaneously hanging on for dear life as Crowley’s car whizzed through New York. “I don’t think I’ve ever been happier to see an inaccurate adaptation.”

“Much improved, if you ask me,” said Crowley. “ _Hamlet_ should’ve won in the original.”

“You haven’t seen the original.”

“Yeah, and I’m not going to waste my time now that I know everybody dies,” said Crowley. “Plus, I’ve seen _The Lion King_ now, and that’s basically the same, yeah?”

“We were just discussing how different they are!”

Crowley grinned and tried not to laugh as they argued the point. It seemed absurd that he had been panicking about this hours earlier. This was Aziraphale. His best friend. They always had a good time together.

They reached Aziraphale’s apartment faster than Crowley would have liked, which would have made him regret his driving speed, except that it was so much fun to watch Aziraphale pretend to be terrified. “Thank you, Crowley,” said Aziraphale, as Crowley pulled up at the curb. “I had a wonderful evening.”

Crowley looked over at Aziraphale’s glowing smile and felt himself mirroring it without trying. “So’d I.” He got out of the car and went around to let Aziraphale out. He’d seen enough TV to know that you were supposed to walk your date to their door. “I’m really glad you called.”

“I’m glad you finally answered.”

Crowley rolled his eyes emphatically. “Look, next time you want to ask me out after I’ve already given up hope, just wake me up. Break down the bloody door. I don’t care.”

Speaking of doors, they had nearly reached Aziraphale’s. Shit. This was where he was supposed to kiss Aziraphale goodnight.

“Good night, my dear,” said Aziraphale, smiling at him. “I hope I’ll see you again soon?”

“Tomorrow, if you want.” What should he do? He didn’t know how to kiss any more than he knew how to do any of the other parts of a romantic relationship. What if he did it wrong? What if Aziraphale didn’t like it, or he did but Crowley didn’t? He was only thinking about it now because it was part of the standard date script he kept seeing in movies. Was Aziraphale expecting a kiss? Or would he think that was too forward, after just one date? Did angels even go in for that sort of thing? Did demons?

Oh, sod this. Crowley took a half-step forward and wrapped Aziraphale in a hug.

He forgot how to breathe. It was like hugging a cloud, except Aziraphale was warm and alive and right here, not cold and wet and miles out of reach. Crowley could never have imagined how nice it would feel to have Aziraphale pressed against him like this, soft and warm and amazing—

Aziraphale made a little “oh” sound and Crowley pulled back. “Sorry,” he said. “Should’ve asked—Is that okay?”

Aziraphale’s eyes were wide, but he nodded. “I just—Nobody’s ever done that before.”

“Y’never been hugged before?” Crowley took a moment to look at him and take in all his soft roundness. “But you’re so perfect for it.”

The words had come out without any thought, but Aziraphale’s face melted. He stepped forward and wrapped his beautiful soft arms tightly around Crowley. “You give the most wonderful hugs, my dear.”

“Hgghk,” Crowley gasped, trying to return the hug without short-circuiting. “You _just_ told me you have no basis for comparison.”

Aziraphale laughed, and oh, Crowley could _feel_ that against the front of his body. “Best by default is still the best.”

“ _You’re_ the best,” Crowley snapped back without thinking. “Well, you are,” he said, when Aziraphale laughed harder. “Doesn’t mean you aren’t still a bastard, though.”

Aziraphale still wasn’t letting go of him, and Crowley didn’t want to let go ever, but that didn’t seem very practical. Anyway, he could do this whenever he wanted now, couldn’t he? He could go home and sleep and when he woke up he’d still be dating Aziraphale. Maybe even the day after that, too, and hopefully a lot more days. They’d both been fired, and they had the rest of eternity to live on Earth. They had years ahead of them.

Crowley pulled away first and looked at Aziraphale with what was probably an embarrassingly lovestruck smile. “See you tomorrow, angel.”

Aziraphale’s answering smile was at least as embarrassing as his, or at least it would have been if it didn’t look so good on him, and also very effectively turned Crowley’s insides into mush. “I look forward to it, my darling.”


End file.
